Forbidden Until Midnight

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

New Year’s Eve last year, Venice

E LE ANOR POSITIONED THE mask over her face, thankful that this year’s hosts, the Capparellis, had decided on a masquerade ball. After the bad press over her second broken engagement, all she’d wanted to do was hide. She’d hoped that Edward would let her stay back at home in England, but it appeared he still planned to use her as bait to lure investors’ attention with the hope of marrying her off to one of their sons.

Now twenty-six years old, Eleanor stood looking out over the Venetian canal, lit with strings of white lights, seeing couples being propelled along the night covered waterway in gondolas, sharing romance and love, all the things she began to fear that she might be now too damaged to experience.

This time last year she’d honestly not thought that she’d ever have to return to one of these events. She’d thought she’d be married, her first year away from Edward, away from here and away from him. But she had been so very wrong.

James had been almost alarmingly calm when she had broken their engagement. Inside, she’d been torn to pieces, chewed up with guilt, knowing what she’d shared with Santo, seeing the perfect, easy future she’d envisioned slipping through her fingers.

But, once again, Santo had been right. And she hated him for it. Hated that he got to stand there and pass judgement over her actions, when they were so limited in the first place. But she’d used that anger, honed it and let it fuel her.

The one advantage of being at home, under Edward’s control, meant she’d had no bills. And she was putting the money she’d earned from her job with Mads, especially after her recent promotion, to good use. After paying off the loan she’d taken out to pay the last year of her university fees, and to cover the few expenses she did have, she’d opened a savings account. And last year she’d started to turn her hand to investments. Some low yield, long-term, but some the opposite. And those were the ones that had paid off. Big time.

Freddie, now sixteen years old, picking up on the increasingly difficult emotional undercurrents wrecking their small family, had started to avoid coming home. She’d spent as much time with him as she could, telling him as much as she dared, which wasn’t enough but was still something. Her brother could see that her hands were tied, but he was also frustrated and upset about being kept in the dark about something he knew but didn’t actually understand.

Which meant that Eleanor had a lot of free time in the evenings to spend online on the stock market. She was good enough at picking through a company’s financials to see a little more behind the scenes than most, and the knowledge that she had picked up from the world Edward had drawn her into had given her a strong basis for her investments. She had begun to build a rather impressive portfolio and relished the security that gave her. Because everywhere else it felt as if she was losing.

In the first years that had followed the shocking discovery of her parentage, survival instinct had made her focus on what was in front of her. But she had acclimatised to the way her life was now, and it wasn’t enough just to accept things the way they were. The need for more was urgent in her blood.

Edward’s attention had begun to wander, and she’d been able to speak to her mother more and more. Did her father even know about her? If he did, why hadn’t he tried to reach her? In even some small way at least. The thought that he hadn’t was painful, so much so that she’d tried to put it out of her mind.

Just like she had tried to put other things out of her mind, but Santo was always there, waiting for her every night as she closed her eyes.

‘See you next year, Princess.’

Even now, a shiver rippled across her skin. He had known. Just like he always had. What was it about him that he saw so much? That he knew so much about her, if not more than she knew herself? She felt as if she’d lived with him inside her skin all year. Every thought was tainted by him, by what he would think, by what he would say.

Each imagined response whispered in her ear as he—in her mind—loomed from behind. Teasing, taunting, promising. But it wasn’t just words. Her fantasies had run rampant. Each time the sensual anticipation of what they could share became more vivid, more lurid—just more . And no matter what release she tried to find for herself, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t him.

She shook her head at herself in disgust. She had turned into an obsessive.

‘Something bothering you this evening, Eleanor?’

It was so close to her daydreams that she half expected it to have been a figment of her imagination. But the heat of his body, the scent pressed against her senses, the way that she responded to the impact of his voice...those made it real. He was real. The thrill that went through her, as if he had pulled on the invisible chain that bound them together.

‘How did you recognise me?’ she asked, her hand reaching up to adjust the mask again.

‘I’d know you anywhere, Princess.’

It had shocked him, as much as it would anyone, to discover that the first kiss that he had shared with Eleanor had not been an anomaly. Because the second kiss only confirmed what Santo had thought for some time—that, no matter how much he fought, denied and refused to believe it, Eleanor was the one and only woman for him. As such, he’d been left with no other choice.

After he had left her last year—only because had he not, he would have taken her right there, in a room with no lock on the door, when anyone could have walked in on them, and honestly, he probably wouldn’t have even cared—he had confronted the fact that he would do whatever it took to make her his.

No doubts, no more second-guessing, no prevarication.

She had broken her engagement because he’d been right. Because she could never hide in suburbia, she could never hide behind a man. She deserved more than being safe, because she was strong enough to survive it. She deserved more than being secure, because the risk was worth the reward. And the rewards for her would be more than she could ever imagine.

And since then he had spent every waking minute of every day making sure that everything was in place, so that when he made his move nothing would stand in his way. He had successfully managed to disentangle his business from Edward Carson. Yes, it had meant reinvesting with some of the other families—committing to business relationships that he didn’t want—just so that Carson would have no ability to impact the Sabatini Group, and thus, by extension, both himself and Eleanor, ever again.

And while she didn’t know it yet , he would make one hundred percent sure that she never had to worry about her mother, her brother or Edward Carson ever again. The only thing playing on his mind was that Pietro didn’t know. That he wasn’t sure that Pietro would approve. He certainly wouldn’t approve of what Santo had been wanting to do to the man’s daughter for nearly as long as he’d known her. It was the first time he’d ever withheld something from the man who had been more like a father to him than his own, and it was a twist of the knife in his conscience. But Pietro would have to wait.

Santo spotted Eleanor at the edge of the crowd, something easing in his chest for the first time since he’d left her the year before. No more would he allow so much time to stand between them. Tonight he would see to that, he was determined.

He stalked towards her slowly, guests moving from his path as he closed the distance between them, anticipation and expectation burning in his chest and scouring his veins.

He came to stand behind her, taking a moment to inhale the sweet scent of her. To know that he would wake up with it in the morning nearly unmanned him right then and there.

‘Something bothering you this evening, Eleanor?’ he asked softly.

She started, the hitch of her shoulders enough to tell him that he’d caught her by surprise.

‘How did you recognise me?’ she asked, fiddling with her mask.

‘I’d know you anywhere, Princess,’ he told her truthfully. He could be blind, deaf, his tongue could have been ripped out, but he’d know this woman until his last breath. She was as much a part of him as the beat of his heart.

‘Dance with me?’ he asked, his palm upturned, open to her.

Eleanor’s head turned half towards him, the profile of her face and the gold feather detail of her mask beautiful.

‘Here?’ she asked, her gaze locking onto his.

‘No, out in the canal,’ he teased and the edge in her eyes softened and warmed.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked, as if worried that he wouldn’t want to be seen with her here, amongst these people.

He leaned forward, holding her gaze with his. ‘Absolutely.’

A large space in the exquisite ballroom had been created for dancing—the orchestra, also masked, filled the hall with the sound of perfectly played waltzes. One piece was drawing to an end as Eleanor placed her hand in his and he led her to the centre of the room. It fitted so perfectly in his palm he almost forgot himself.

He noted a few whispers, felt more than a few gazes across the back of his neck, and hated the way that Eleanor stiffened at the feel of them too.

‘Ignore them. You are the only one that matters here tonight,’ he said as he led her to face him in a waist-hold. They stood, waiting for the music to start, and he marvelled at how right it felt to have her in his arms.

‘What is it, cara ?’ he asked, noticing her gaze downward.

‘I’m not used to pretty words from you,’ she admitted with a smile.

Regret shot through him. They had lost so much time over the years, but no more. He would not, could not, let her go this time.

More and more couples filled the dance floor, but still they drew the most attention.

‘I might find such things difficult,’ he admitted. ‘But if you want them, you’ll have them every single day,’ he vowed.

She looked up at him in surprise, a flush coming to her cheeks, gold shards glittering in the deep brown of her gaze. If this was her reaction to a few pretty words, then he’d shower her with them every minute of the day.

Her gaze scoured his, as if searching his features for the truth, hoping to divine his thoughts.

‘What would you say?’ she asked as the music began and he swept them into a dance his mother had forced him to learn when he’d been barely twelve years old. And for the first time in his entire life, he was thankful for the lesson. Because Eleanor moved like a swan on a lake. Graceful, beautiful , poised, in all the ways that made him feel like a clumsy oaf beside her.

‘That you are the most precious thing in the world to me,’ he admitted. ‘That my life doesn’t make sense when you are not here. That I ache to see you every moment of every day that I do not. That I want to know what you think, how you think, why you think, so that maybe, just maybe, I might understand you just a little more. Because that has become my only worthy endeavour,’ he said.

As they moved around the room and his words fell in their wake, not once did she take her eyes from him. The small smile that had curved her lips grew, millimetre by millimetre, until it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Titters from the crowd began to intrude and he didn’t want that. He wanted her all to himself, and he thought that maybe this time she was ready to come with him. Not because she was fleeing, or hiding, or drowning. But because she wanted to.

He drew to a halt, not caring or needing to wait any longer.

‘Come with me?’ he asked.

‘Anywhere,’ she replied, and for the first time ever in one of these horrible New Year’s Eve events, Santo Sabatini felt joy.

Eleanor let him lead her away from the ballroom, down the stairs and out through doors, and she didn’t care who saw them. As he led her out into the frigid winter’s night air, she didn’t feel the sudden sharp icy sting, she felt alive, her blood burning through her body, a heat that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with the slow burn that had taken her over the moment he’d whispered into her ear that night.

They slipped through the throng of tourists hoping to celebrate the New Year; blurred faces stared after the two beautifully dressed people in masks racing across the cobbled square. He drew her into the entrance of his hotel, his hand in hers all but dragging her over the threshold and up an exquisite wooden curved staircase, towards a door on the uppermost floor, only four storeys above the street level.

And all she could think was, Now. Please, God, now.

After all the times that things had got in their way, after mistakes and wrong choices, she suddenly feared so much that this too would slip through her fingers, so much so that she thought she felt tears press against the backs of her eyes.

His pace slowed as he drew her towards the door at the far end of the corridor. And this was it, she thought, panicked. He was going to change his mind, and her heart wrenched as if she had already lost him.

With his key card pressed against the scanner for the room, the door partially pressed open, Santo looked down at her, something like alarm passing across his features.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, searching her eyes.

‘I...’ She bit her lip, worried about what she would say. ‘I...’ She shook her head and looked down.

He lifted her chin with his forefinger, forcing her eyes back to his.

‘Please don’t change your mind,’ she whispered. She couldn’t bear it if he turned her away now.

‘Why would...’ He trailed off, as if unable to finish the sentence, let alone the thought.

‘Because you see me,’ she whispered again. ‘All of me, from the very beginning. You have seen me . Not Edward, not money, not access, not a prize. And now I want you to know me and...if you stop then I don’t think that I could bear it.’

‘Why would I stop?’ he asked, confusion clouding his gaze.

‘What if you don’t like what you find? What if I’m not good enough for you?’

‘ Cristo, amore mio , that would never happen.’

‘Even if I’m...’ She could hardly bring herself to say it.

‘Innocent?’ he finished for her.

She clenched her teeth together and nodded, not ashamed but embarrassed. Because she wanted him to see her as a woman, not some silly na?ve girl asking for more than she could handle.

‘Does that change things for you?’ she dared to ask.

‘Not at all, Eleanor. The only thing that will stop me tonight is a word from you, prometto cara .’

His promise skated over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. But all thought stopped the moment that his lips met hers to seal the vow.

He kicked the door open with the back of his heel and enticed her across the threshold with a kiss promising so much that it filled her heart and soul. And she knew in that moment that wherever he went, she would follow.

Her fingers reached up to wrap around his neck as, at the same time, his hands reached for her, lifting her from the floor effortlessly and into his hands. With one hand supporting beneath her, the other cradled her head, fisted in her hair, pulling just tightly enough to angle her head where he wanted her, where he could plunge his tongue into her mouth, where he could possess her wholly, fully, completely .

In the second it took her to process the power of his kiss she realised just how much he’d been holding back before. Whether it had been decorum or the risk of discovery, it didn’t matter because, released from his restraint, he was so far beyond her wildest imaginings.

Overwhelmed by all the sensations flooding her system, her breath caught in her lungs and she forgot to breathe. Her pulse leapt and dipped when he plunged his tongue into her mouth, when he pulled her closer into his body, when his hands swept around her dress, as if trying to find a way beneath it to her skin, and she wanted that more than anything.

Holding her up above him, he walked further into the suite, not breaking the kiss until he put Eleanor down on the breakfast bar, where she was momentarily distracted by the most magnificent view. Not the nightscape across the Venice canals, but him. Staring at her as if he would never be able to tear himself away from her ever again.

He pushed at the thick skirts of her dress, closing his eyes as if in bliss when he finally found the sleek curve of her calf. Fascinated, she watched how young he suddenly appeared as he gently took her shoe in his hands, bending her leg a little between them so that he could dip his lips to the space just above, where her high heel was buckled.

It was perhaps the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her, her cheeks instantly flushing from the proximity of him, of his mouth , making her damp with want.

He looked up at her without bringing the kisses he pressed against her leg to an end, heat in his gaze, knowing...promise. He knew exactly what he was doing to her and he was watching her as intently as she was watching him, documenting each response, each reaction, the way that each touch thrilled, each kiss sent needles of sharp need into her lungs.

Panting now with desire for everything he could give her, her legs trembled beneath the weight of her want.

‘I want to worship you,’ Santo whispered honestly against her skin. ‘I want you to know what that feels like.’ And God, she wanted that too.

Santo wanted her to see what he saw. Her beauty, her strength, her power, her humour, her kindness and her confidence. He wanted her to know what he felt, but struggled to find the words that would make her understand how everything outside of them ceased to exist for him. Everything.

‘I want you to feel nothing but pleasure,’ he confessed.

Eleanor bit her lip as he trailed kisses up her calf, over her knee and across her thigh, the bare skin like silk. He wanted so much more for her than he’d ever had himself. He wanted to care for her throughout it, not steal it, bribe it or seduce it from her. He wanted her with him, in truth, in honesty and in pleasure.

‘But if for one single minute you need me to stop, or to slow down—’

‘Are you going to ask me for a safe word?’ she said, trying to joke.

He stopped, his lips hovering barely an inch from her skin, and looked up at her, locking his gaze with hers. ‘You are always safe with me.’

Her eyes glistened, emotion brimming to the edges, and he knew that she understood what he meant. That promise went beyond this night, to all the nights. To for ever, no matter what happened between them. It was unbreakable, written in the marrow in his bones. He would care for her, love her, until his last breath on this planet.

Barely able to contain his own feelings, he pressed another kiss and another against the flesh of her inner thigh.

Her sigh turned into a gasp that fisted his erection as if she held him in the palm of her hand. Involuntarily, a growl escaped his lips and she shifted on the counter as if responses unfurled between them, back and forth on the tie that bound them together.

This was why it had always been inevitable. This was why she was the only woman for him now. Because his entire being depended on her, on what she felt, how she felt it, and how much better he could make it for her.

He gently parted her legs to make space for him fully, leaning forward to reach behind her to pull her closer to the edge, closer to him.

‘I will stop if you want me to, but you have to tell me. So, I need you to talk to me.’

‘You...you want me to talk to you?’

He leaned forward and kissed her, teasing her mouth open for him, one powerful thrust with his tongue against hers, before pulling back.

‘I want you to tell me how it feels for you.’

He could see the flush on her cheeks deepen.

‘What if I use the wrong words?’ she asked, biting that lip of hers again.

‘There are no wrong words here. There is nothing to fear, and nothing to be ashamed of, cara . I mean it,’ he said, almost sternly.

Eleanor nodded, placing her trust in him, and he felt it like a gift. One that he was not worthy of in the least.

He kissed her again, swiftly, passionately, one hand pressing her into him, the other lifting her leg again behind her knee, over his hip, knowing that she could feel his need for her at the juncture of her thighs, knowing, as he ground against her, the moment he pressed against her clit because of the way her head fell back and the snap of pleasure rippled across her body.

He repeated the move again and she pressed, shaking, into him further.

‘Words, cara ,’ he reminded her.

‘Again,’ she whispered.

‘Why?’ he asked, reaching the edge of his sanity.

‘Because it feels good,’ she said on panted breaths.

He slowly swept her skirt aside, lifting it over her knees, kissing each inch of flesh that was revealed across her thighs and higher, until finally he could see the dark, damp silk of her underwear, the musky scent of her driving him near feral with lust and want.

‘May I?’ he asked, with his thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties.

‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes so exquisitely full of desire, a strand of her hair falling loose as she nodded.

She raised her backside from the counter so that he could draw her underwear from beneath her and away from her body.

And then, with Eleanor open before him, the smile dropped from his mouth. Because she was incredible. Exquisite. She was it for him. There was no other option or possibility or future. It was all her.

There was nothing holding him back now. All he could do was let the fire consume them both. And that was the last thought he had as he bent his head to the juncture of her thighs and pressed open-mouthed kisses to her core, the taste of heaven he had fantasised about for years entering his bloodstream like a drug he would never quit.

Eleanor fell back against the wall, her hands fisting the edge of the table, knuckles white, trying to hold on, while Santo thrust her into a pleasure so acute she thought she’d break apart if she took another breath.

Curses filled her mouth and she thought, impossibly, that she could tell Santo was smiling as he pressed yet another open-mouthed kiss against her. His hands pressed her thighs open to him, his thumbs massaging gentle circles as his tongue laved over her clit in lazy sweeps that sent shivers across her entire body.

Oxygen battled against pleasure in her lungs and if she could survive on bliss alone she would happily do so, but couldn’t, so gasped for breath as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

She writhed against him and he growled against her delicate flesh, nearly splitting her apart with desire. He did it again, and she cried out from the sensation alone. He circled his finger around her entrance, the feeling exquisitely new, teasing, making her want him there more than she could have possibly imagined.

‘Cara?’

‘Yes, please. Please, Santo...’

The words tripped over themselves as they fell from her lips. She would beg if she had to, but he would never let her do that because he was already where she needed him and then he thrust into her with clever, knowing fingers that filled her, the palm of his hand pressing against the rest of her as his tongue teased her clitoris to the point of near madness.

‘Oh, God,’ she hissed out. ‘Santo, I...’

‘Breathe,’ he whispered. ‘Breathe into it, let it fill you,’ he guided. ‘Let yourself come.’

He didn’t push her further than what she could handle but instead deepened her experience for her, letting it sweep at her feet like the tide rather than a tsunami, letting her sink into it rather than drown, as if it were something to luxuriate in.

Breath after breath, swallowing down pleasure in a way she’d never known, never experienced, as her orgasm built from the ground up, from where he pressed his tongue to her, from where he added a second finger to fill her, from where he held her so securely against him. Her orgasm was like Santo himself, slow, inexorable; it stalked her like prey, closing in on her with a fatefulness that she couldn’t escape, that she didn’t want to escape.

He whispered words of encouragement against her, unintelligible to her overstimulated mind, but known instinctively by her body. She unfurled for him, she opened to him, wanting more, like an insatiable being hunting her own pleasure even as it stalked her, until finally her body couldn’t take it any more.

With one final sweep of his tongue she exploded like the fireworks filling the night sky.